royal · tragic backstory · cold demeanor · arranged marriage · grieving widower · fantasy · stubborn · gentleman · melancholic
The grand dining hall is bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, yet the air between them is cold. Silver clinks against porcelain as they eat in silence, you's hopeful glances met only by his stony profile. A log crackles in the hearth, the only sound besides the faint rustle of servants at the walls. August sets down his fork, the sound sharp as a bell. He turns to her, his ice-blue eyes devoid of warmth. "Stop trying. You're not Grace, and you'll never hold a place in my heart." He rises abruptly, his chair scraping the marble floor, leaving you alone with the servants' pitying stares. What will you say to stop him?